


rather I'd lose my limbs than let you come to harm

by thatsparrow



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Campaign 05: A Crown of Candy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/pseuds/thatsparrow
Summary: It's either Theo or the queen, and there's no decision in that.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	rather I'd lose my limbs than let you come to harm

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the absolutely devastating tags on [this post](https://22hildaboulevard.tumblr.com/post/622454860996116480/randomitemdrop-brockdavis-blog-gummy-bearskin) from [@22hildaboulevard](https://22hildaboulevard.tumblr.com/)
> 
> title from "soldiering life" by the decemberists

It's either him or the queen, and there's no decision in that. As Calroy rounds the corner with a half-dozen soldiers in House Cruller livery—mouth stretched wide in a wraparound grin—Theo opens the passageway and pushes Queen Caramelinda inside with as much decorum as the situation permits.

"Run, Your Highness," he says, drawing his blade. "As fast as you can. Trust no one save the king and your daughters, and don't stop until you've left the castle far behind. I'll buy you as much time as you need." It's a promise he has no way of ensuring, but he has vowed to protect the Rocks family with his life and Calroy's men will have to cut the blade from his hand before he'll falter in that end.

Queen Caramelinda looks as if to say something, but she only swallows and nods her head, turning to descend the narrow steps with her skirts held in one hand and the other glowing with faint, lapis-colored light.

 _Lazuli give me strength_ , Theo thinks as he closes the passage door and readies himself to fight.

—

He does what he can, but there are seven of them and one of him, and Theo knows how this is meant to end before it's begun. They chip away at him like woodsmen hewing at an oak, cutting him down piece by piece, searching out the gaps in his armor until the inside of the metal is running slick with his own blood, battering down against his shield until his arm is so numb that he can barely keep the edge of it off the ground. He fights until his hands turn slippery from syrup and sweat, until the pain and blood loss have blurred his vision, until his sword is swinging so wild and so loose that Calroy could pluck it from his fingers. Still, though, he persists, because the price of Caramelinda's survival is this moment, and he'll pay the cost a hundred times over if he has to. Eventually, though, there comes a moment when Calroy and his men are only humoring him, leaving him armed and on his feet because it suits their satisfaction. And when their patience runs low, Theo feels the blade pulled from his hand, takes bruising hits to the backs of his knees that send him tumbling to the ground at Calroy's feet.

"Come on, Theo, don't make this any worse for yourself." He's barely conscious now, the world spinning around him like a peppermint swirl, but he can still hear the self-indulgence in Calroy's voice. "I asked that you be kept alive for a reason. You're a valuable asset—even Amethar's head wasn't so full of cotton candy he couldn't recognize that." A gloved hand closes on his chin, tilting his head up towards where Calroy is shadowed by the light. He laughs, low. "Shit, but you look _rough_. Knight of North-Gumbia, big bad Lord Commander of the Targuard, and look at you now. You've gotta be hurting, so why not do yourself a favor and make the smart choice? Give up on the Rocks, pledge yourself to me, and the rest of your days don't have to end painfully."

Theo can taste blood on his tongue as Calroy's fingers dig into his chin, his breathing turned ragged from where one of the blows has cracked his ribs. He nods his head, asking Calroy closer, and as the bastard does, Theo spits in his face, a spray of blood and saliva that turns Calroy's grin into a snarl. He lets go of Theo's chin to backhand him across the cheek, sharp and stinging enough to jerk Theo back to conscious.

"So you need some time to think it over? Fine. I can be patient. Keep baring your teeth if it'll make you feel better, but this only ends one of two ways, and what good will your fucking loyalty do for you in death?" As he wipes the spit from his face, Calroy says to his soldiers, "Take him to the cells and patch him up enough to keep him breathing through the night." He plants a boot on Theo's chest, presses down until Theo would swear he can feel the cracks in his ribs starting to splinter. "I'm not through with him yet."

—

Theo loses track of time, except for the moments when Calroy and his men stretch minutes into hours, plumbing new depths of creativity in service of their cruelty. They keep him alive, but only just, an endless, enduring stretch of pain that sometimes leaves him wondering whether he has enough strength to beat his head against the stone and put a stop to it himself.

"You know they're gone, right?" Cal says to him on one of those first days, when Theo still has all of his teeth and fingers. "Amethar, Caramelinda, the princesses—even the Jawbreaker boy. I tell you, it's a lucky thing that candy doesn't spoil quickly—I'll get to enjoy their heads on the castle walls a while longer." He walks around the table where Theo is strapped down, leans over so Theo has no choice but to look at him. "Come _on_. Save us both the trouble and just give up. You're only fighting for ghosts."

But Theo doesn't—whether because he can hear the lie in Calroy's voice, or because he's too much of a stubborn bastard to give Calroy the satisfaction of his surrender, he doesn't know. He stays alive, stays steadfast, enduring until even Calroy is bored by his pain. When the time comes, they execute him quickly, quietly, running a dagger across his throat and leaving him to bleed dry.

Still, outside the castle walls, rumors are stirring of a frostbitten queen with a legitimate claim to the throne, old magic at her fingertips and the remnants of House Rocks at her side. Theo dies without meeting Amethar's oldest daughter, but as the light leaves him, he sees Jet once more as she and Lazuli help him from the broken shell of his body, make him whole again in the afterlife.

—

_Mad King Calroy_ , they call him across Candia—quietly in the streets of Dulcington, louder in the fields along the Sucrosi, whispers carried by the banks of the Cola to the Great Stone Candy Mountains. From their allies in the Dairy Islands, Saccharina and the refugee members of House Rocks hear that his alliance with the Imperator is fractured, his support from the Church waning, the lines across Calorum splitting anew as the power struggle pulls at the seams. He's vulnerable, and so they prepare for war.

—

His death belongs to Amethar, and so when the siege breaks through, when the castle gates give, it is Amethar who leads the charge to the king's chambers, who kicks down the door with rage burning hot in his throat and Payment Day held aloft, both of them hungry for blood. Inside, he finds Cal sprawled out in a chair in front of the fire, a copycat crown sliding low on his forehead, a half-empty bottle of sugared fruit wine held loosely in one hand.

"It's finished, Cal," Amethar says, leveling the tip of his blade toward Calroy's throat. As he does, Cal takes another lazy sip, mouth stretched out in a lolling smile like the slack jaw of a marionette.

"You all against the Empire and the Church? I always knew you were a fool, Amethar, but I never realized you were so deluded as to convince yourself of those odds." His words are slurred, his eyes half-focused; Amethar figures it equally likely whether he was drinking for courage or to drown his cowardice. "Kill me, sure, but how long do you think the satisfaction will last before Ciabatta and the Pontifex have put your half-baked uprising to bed? You should've just died when I pushed you from the tower, Amethar. Bulb knows you would've saved yourself a lot of trouble.

Amethar moves to step closer, but before he does, Cal clears his throat, tilts his head towards the stretch of floor at his feet. Still holding Payment Day outstretched and unwavering, Amethar glances down, just for a moment, then locks up stone-still as the tip of the blade begins to tremble in his hand. For the most part, Cal has left the king's chambers unaltered from Amethar's own tenure, but here he has seen fit to add a new decoration—a cherry red, gummy-skin rug stretched out in front of the fireplace.

"I tell you, we had to do a fair bit of work to patch him up first," Cal says, laughing around the lip of the bottle. He nudges the rug with his foot, and firelight flickers off the glass they've used to replace Theo's eyes. "Fuck, Amethar, you should've seen him at the end. Poor Theo got it _bad_. Now, I'm not saying he had it worse because you survived, but—"

Payment Day swings down and cleanly severs Calroy's head, a slick strawberry line that sends his body tumbling to the ground.

"Shut the fuck up," Amethar says, wiping his blade on the wrinkled line of Cal's pants. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, hot and stinging; with the fire twisting in his blurred vision and turning funny reflections in the black glass, he could almost imagine that Theo is looking back at him. 

—

After the castle is cleared, the first thing they do is bury him. It's a quiet, informal thing—a dozen of them around a stretch of newly-dug earth. (No doubt that he deserves all the pomp and ceremony that Candia has to offer, but it's an unspoken agreement that none of them can stand to see him left so disgraced any longer.) They share words and remembrances. They christen the land with their tears and the still-wet blood of the mad king and his soldiers. They give as much grief and honor as they have to offer—for all that it still doesn't feel like enough—until there are no more tears to spill or words to share, until there is no way left but forward.


End file.
